


Scar tissue

by hikarufly



Series: After Twelve Stories [11]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikarufly/pseuds/hikarufly
Summary: It began with listening to "Scar tissue" by Red Hot Chili Peppers. It came out something other... basically something really angst.The Doctor and Clara try to spend time and not just travel throught it, and they find something out about themselves...English is not my first language.





	

The road was a dark grey ribbon, unfurling before them. On one side, green grass and hills covered with the most verdant and lush vegetation imaginable; on the other, the purity and strength of the ocean.

Clara's hair was dancing in the wild wind, as she was driving a convertible on the Wild Atlantic Way, in Ireland. Her dark eyes were screened by a pair of vintage sunglasses, just a few inches up her bright smile. The Doctor sat next to her, similar sunglasses on his eyes. Or best, he was practically laying on the reclined seat, a guitar on his lap. He was caressing the strings, not really playing but also trying to catch a melody in his head. His curls were swirling wildly, his eyes hidden behind the darken glass. The light worn out Bowie t-shirt he had could not prevent the wind caressing his stomach, making it move like a sail.

«You should wear your seatbelt.» she said, still smiling, trying not to look at the few inches of skin exposed, from time to time, by the wind.

«You should have listened to me: we should have taken the TARDIS.» he replied.

She shook her head, slightly.

«Shut up and look at the scenery, Doctor.» Clara ordered him.

The Time Lord stayed as sprawled as he could on that seat, almost horizontal. He looked around, as she took a slight turn, running along the high coastline. Yes, Ireland was beautiful, and he had seen much of it during his travels. He had seen Ireland-like planets. He had fought during the Easter Rising, or best had prevented as many deaths as he could. He had drunk terrible coffee with James Joyce on a distant shore in Istria, talking about Dublin. He had helped many escape the Vikings attacks and... well, he had seen stuff.

«I know what you're thinking. You're thinking of the many times you've been here.» Clara stated, still smiling. He did not reply.

«Not everything is about adventure... you already understand Time, but once in a while you should also enjoy it.» she explained, as he caressed the string of his guitar with a little more intention. A few notes came out of the unplugged speaker laying on the back seat. It was indeed a little bit sonic.

Clara recognized the tune he started to play and, after a few chords, she sang along.

 

_Scar tissue that I wish you saw_

_Sarcastic Mister know it all_

_Close your eyes and I'll kiss you 'cause_

_With the bird I'll share_

_With the bird I'll share_

_This lonely view_

_With the bird I'll share_

_This lonely view_

 

Before she could start the second verse of the song, he had already joined her. The Doctor took a few moments to try out another chord, that she didn't remember. Clara shut up and listened.

 

_Push me up against the wall_

_Young Kentucky girl in a push-up bra_

_Fallin' all over myself_

_To lick your heart and taste your health 'cause_

_With the bird I'll share, this lonely view_

 

Keeping control of the vehicle was not so easy now. Every single word entered her ear and struck her insides. Pushing him against the wall, his tongue licking her skin, just between her breasts... She turned, as gently as she could: there was a lighthouse at the edge of the road, the last thing on the horizon, before the immense vastness of the ocean.

 

_With the bird I'll share_

_This lonely view_

_With the bird I'll share_

_This lonely view_

 

The Doctor didn't stop, and his eyes were drifting away, to that lonely view he was singing about. He was not seeing the hills, the scant flocks of sheep, not even the road or the shining and foaming surface of the water. He was picturing himself, being pushed against that wall, tasting her skin.

 

_Blood loss in a bathroom stall_

_Southern girl with a scarlet drawl_

_Wave goodbye to ma and pa 'cause_

_With the bird I'll share_

_With the bird I'll share, this lonely view_

 

What could he picture now? Someone interrupting them. Someone entering the bathroom were he had taken her, to taste her health... Perhaps an alien. An American-Irish alien. With a very disturbing accent. U.S. Southern, maybe, or Cork accent... or both. A fight: he was no good at fights, that is why he was bleeding on that stool, in the bathroom of that pub. Clara trying to help him out, but another girl with a drawl voice preventing her.

 

_Soft spoken with a broken jaw_

_Step outside but not to brawl_

_Autumn's sweet we call it fall_

_I'll make it to the moon if I have to crawl_

_With the bird I'll share, this lonely view_

 

Clara slowed down. She could imagine herself helping him out of that bathroom, his jaw slightly springing, the corner of his mouth stained with blood, yet his Scottish accent clear in the soft murmur inside her ear. She shivered. What was he saying?

 

_Scar tissue that I wish you saw_

_Sarcastic Mister know it all_

_Close your eyes and I'll kiss you 'cause_

_With the bird I'll share_

_With the bird I'll share, this lonely view_

 

They stopped at the lighthouse. Clara's hair finished their dancing, the Doctor left his guitar alone only after finishing a few chords. They had daydreamed together, their cheeks flushed, their throats sore, their bodies yearning for each other, not daring move a little muscle: for fear, of course, but fear of what exactly, that was a mystery to themselves. Fear of regret? Of rejection? Of the uncertainty, the guilt, the awkwardness that would follow?

Clara turned off the engine. The Doctor put himself together, seating up and using his guitar almost as a shield. The silence was heavy, as their breath. The sky was red as murder, as dusk was approaching.

The lighthouse distracted them. A sound was coming from inside: a violin, first, and then a few other instrument starting a reel. The wind, coming again from the sea, began to swirl their hair and chill their bones, yet not with malice, only as an invitation to enter. The Doctor left his guitar at the back as Clara got out of the car and moved directly to the lighthouse, master of herself again, a curious smile on her face.

«Come on, Doctor!» she incited him, taking his hand and dragging him with her..

They got inside, and there was a lovely little pub: wooden tables and counter, a bar with a round-faced, red-headed happy man cleaning glasses, a few stools with elderly customers and regulars. In the corner, a bunch of musicians playing like they were rehearsing for themselves, and not let everyone enjoy the music. Clara smiled more broadly, as the Doctor looked around, a bit confused.

«Come on, drinks are on me.» she said, almost giggling. «I know you have no money, anyway.»

The bartender smiled at her as she was a long time friend.

«What can I get you, sweetheart?» he asked, in the most Irish accent she had ever heard.

«Err... two pints of your best brew?» she replied, while the Doctor put a very frowning and quite jealous face on.

«Taking daddy out for the night?» asked the bar tender, pulling the first pint.

«I am not her dad.» he specified, broodingly.

«He's more a Mr Darcy when he does this, actually.» she said, still giggling, as the Time Lord, despite himself, blushed.

«Then I'd say he's a very lucky Scottish lord.» the bartender declared, giving them the first, and then the second beer.

They left for a small table, the only one available: it seemed a smaller size of the one they occupied in Mancini's restaurant, in Victorian London.

«At least you're not wearing that awful coat again.» she stated, a little closer to him than he was comfortable with. But a inch further then he secretly wanted.

«As you are not wearing the same thing you wore that day... right?» he asked, unsure, making her laugh. It was not just an amused laugh: it was delighted by something. The fact that he could not really see her make up or clothes was funny and also... sweet.

«Right.» she replied, sipping her pint. There was something strange about it all. They had little time, usually, to spend in a quite corner, just talking or listening to music. He seemed awkward and embarrassed even, as there was something he wanted to do and at the same time was trying desperately to stop himself from doing it. The red light of sundown was bathing the room, and inflaming the red heads around them.

«How is it? Actually spending time and not jumping around?» she asked.

«Awful, and boring, as the last time I had to, at Amy and Rory's place.» he replied.

Clara seemed a little bit hurt, but inside of herself she was thinking about that reply, and found that she too was eager to get back to the TARDIS and find adventure. What had been all about, then, convincing him to take the car, leave the spaceship safe and...

She wanted him to do something, she was not even sure what. She wanted him to stop her, perhaps... because she knew she was too reckless for her own good, but... it was so intoxicating, and it was the way she could be with him, always. Always, and never have to leave, never.

«Doctor...» she started, looking at her own hands, in her lap. «Why Scar Tissue? Why that song?»

She cursed herself in her thoughts for not having the strength to really talk to him.

He looked around, almost panicking.

«I...» he started, but seemed unable to continue.

«Why can't we just... talk, like normal people?» she said, in a frustrated whisper, after a few seconds of silence between them.

«We are not normal people, Clara.» the Doctor replied. «We cannot simply be, or cannot simply talk of little things.»

He seemed more discomfited and scared now.

«It is not fair, Clara. You are a human being, as extraordinary as you should be. But you ought to be normal, you should be able to do small-talk and laugh and dance and live your life fully, from boring moments to unique moments. You shouldn't be risking your life with me: we are too much alike, but you are made of softer skin and flesh.» he said, as something was hurting him, as a spear was slowly piercing him.

«I am terrified, Clara.» he murmured, looking for her eyes now. Her big, dark eyes, where he knew he would gladly loose himself forever. «I don't know what I would do without you. And I realise I will be without you, sooner or later, and the mere idea leaves me in a pure state of panic. It will hurt so much I won't be able to breath.»

Clara was the speechless one now.

«Every little moment with you... it makes it better and worst. Every regret will be heavy on my hearts, every chance I take will be a beautiful yet hurtful memory. I am a coward, Clara. I don't want to feel all this.» he concluded, realising his last sentences were said out loud. She took his hands.

«I don't want to leave, Doctor. The scars you wish I saw... I saw them from the first moment. From before I knew these eyes and this face.» she reminded him, caressing his temple and his cheek. He closed his eyes for a moment.

«I want your hearts to be burdened by beautiful and glorious memory, not regrets. Regrets are already heavy on mine.» she said, taking his hand and placing it on her chest. It seemed like her heart wanted to escape her ribcage.

They stayed like this, eyes into eyes, hearts racing together as the music slightly changed, but didn't stop. A casual fiddle became a different song, the kind of song only the Irish can compose and sing: a long, bittersweet goodbye, a promise for the future and a soul full of hope and tears.

While a terribly beautiful voice told about a man moving through the fair, and a girl watching him pass as a swan over a lake, Clara and the Doctor stood up. They passed the tables, and paying no attention to remarks and looks, they took a key of one of the upper floors room, and got upstairs. The voice of the singer resounded over the walls aro und the stairs, as well as in their own bodies.

The Doctor could not open the door for her: Clara was not the type to need chivalrous gestures. Shoes were the first to go, and socks too. Barefoot was the way in such a place like Ireland, to get back to more natural, visceral things, to dig your toes in the dirt. They closed the door behind them, as the muffled music of violins, guitars and melancholic voices did not cover the light sound of their hands touching, their clothes falling or their lips kissing. Clara looked after him, as she let his jacket to the floor and gently unbuckled his belt. It took little time to get rid of his T shirt, and his trousers. His chest's skin was so pale it was almost translucent. The touch of her fingers made him shiver, and his hearts felt like bleeding and inflating at the same time as she kissed his skin, right between them. She let the Doctor take care of her too, as he helped her take off her cherry-coloured dress, her high-tights and losing his fingers in her hair, kissing her lips, first tentatively, then desperately, than sweetly. Clara led him to the bed, as he kissed her heart, feeling the taste of her skin: it was so different from their daydream, from that song in the car, and so much more precious. They were tightly embraced, now, no piece of clothing shielding them from one another, eyes into eyes, skin against skin. Time Lords had never understood the Doctor, and he had never understood humans, but time: that was something he knew very well. Time and Space had melted, and there was nothing more than him and Clara, Clara and him, one mind, one soul and three hearts.

«I wonder how they could leave this place.» whispered Clara, drawing non-existing swirls on his chest.

«Who?» he asked, his eyes fixed on her and his arm around her, one hand caressing her back, as she could disappear and he wanted to fix that moment into his eternity.

«The Irish.» she replied. He smiled, sadly.

«They had to.» the Doctor said. «They had to leave, and made great and terrible beauty out of their sorrow.»

Clara moved up upon him, to meet his eyes. The sea was chanting now that the music and voiced had stopped.

«You'll do it too.» she stated, with a proud and valiant smile.

«As will you.» he added, taking her hand in his, and kissing it. «It won't be the same, though.»

«I hope so.» she smiled, broadly, and so did he.

The Doctor seemed ready to say something, but she put a finger on his lips.

«Sing to me. Please.» she asked, her lips trembling for a moment. He nodded, gently, and embraced her as he would never do again, keeping her close to his hearts.

He sang a sad, lovely song, beautiful and sorrowful, as an Irishman to his lady, knowing that soon it would all be over, but they would become the greatest story of all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Apart from Scar Tissue by Red Hot Chili Peppers, the other song, the one heard in the pub, is "She moved through the fair" and the version I like best is Sinéad O'Connor one ([video here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DQnS18EeWM))
> 
> The song the Doctor sings... well, that one only Clara knows.


End file.
